


Sugar and spice and everything nice

by babydragon7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cooking, M/M, Pining, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23895919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydragon7/pseuds/babydragon7
Summary: Boys and chocolate
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71





	Sugar and spice and everything nice

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. I'm just playing around
> 
> my amazing friend tenderly_wicked made a fan-art of Ilya and Napoleon. Check it out!
> 
> http://fav.me/ddvygt8

Chocolate, sugar, butter, cream… Rum to taste. Napoleon would never think that Ilya, of all people, could make something as complicated as chocolate truffles.

Napoleon wants. To have those fingers, dangerous fingers of very dangerous hands in his mouth, taste of them sweet and rich, skin underneath the chocolate, he bets he can have them as deep as he would Ilya’s cock… That is unhealthy.

Ilya had recently taken to cooking desserts, all things sweet and chocolate, brownies, devil’s food cake, what have you. He commandeers Napoleon’s kitchen for that single reason.

“Mine is not big or well-equipped enough,” Ilya said.

Napoleon would gladly give Peril his life, but he enjoys this much more. In addition, he gets to taste everything, all the sweet smooth sugary foods, hot and cold, set or with liquid center, tenderness and love to taste. His kitchen smells like Ilya and dessert for days, the side effect is that now every time he as much whiffs something chocolaty on the street he gets a hard-on. Ilya so far has failed to notice.

Right now Napoleon stands leaning on the counter and he cannot help baiting Ilya. The Russian looks so homey with his apron, the table in front of him layered with confectionery.

“Would never peg you for one of those, you know,” he says and makes sure his smirk is every bit as irritating as ever “cooking types. I thought it was 'woman’s chore' in Russia?“

Ilya just rolls his eyes. He does that around Napoleon often.

“You of all people should know that men are better cooks. All the exclusive restaurants have men as their chefs. “

“Men are better at a lot of things,“ Napoleon agrees easily. Ilya huffs. They are just lucky Gaby has not arrived yet. “Picking clothes, doing hair… giving blowjobs.“

Oh, he just had to. Now there’ll be hell to pay.

Ilya grows quiet and gives Napoleon one very long and hard look. He takes a tray of truffles and puts them in the fridge. Then he slowly approaches.

“Did you know you can get a prison sentence for this in Russia? The act itself is considered deviant behavior. Between men, it is worst; it would land you in prison. Allegations alone could land you in prison where very bad things would happen to you.“

Napoleon gulps.

“Here in US, I heard medics in private clinics are using electroshocks to cure such deviant behavior, trying to convert homosexuals, turn them back to women.“

“Well, when. Did not work on me, obviously“ Napoleon quips, but it proves to be the wrong thing to say. Ilya grabs his chin forcefully and his tone is clipped and deadly.

“Never joke about you torture with me, Cowboy. I was there remember?“

“Sorry, Peril.“

“What should I do with you?“ Ilya still holds his chin and Napoleon is shamelessly using this fact to lick his thumb pressing right there at the corner of Napoleon’s mouth. Chocolate tastes much better this way, Napoleon could gorge himself.

“I have quite a few ideas actually.“

Napoleon is sure that Ilya will hit him now and hopes that it is not on his face. His face is a valuable asset to operations after all.

“What are you saying, Cowboy?“

Napoleon sighs, must he spell this out, really?

“I’m saying, Peril, I’d like to engage in a very deviant behavior punishable in both our home countries with you. Right now. If you’re amenable.“

Ilya smiles at him as if he is in fact amenable and says, “Truffles need an hour in the fridge, so we might as well. I’ll just go and wash my hands.“

“No, no, no. Please, don’t. And leave your apron on.“

Ilya rolls his eyes again, but follows Napoleon to the bedroom. The truffles stay in the fridge lonely and forgotten for much more than an hour. However, it is quite all right. They will keep.


End file.
